


Secrets

by hchannibloom (bleepin_ufo)



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Season 2 AU, Secrets, Smut, hannibloom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-12
Updated: 2016-12-12
Packaged: 2018-09-08 03:42:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8829010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bleepin_ufo/pseuds/hchannibloom
Summary: An AU where Alana is not quite so blind.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [murakistags](https://archiveofourown.org/users/murakistags/gifts).



> Thank you @legobrianzeller for the immensely helpful beta, and Merry Christmas to @murakisses!

Alana groaned as she awoke, not yet opening her eyes. The party at Hannibal’s, followed by the expression of their long-repressed desires in the form of feverish lovemaking had worn her down, and she longed to drift back into sleep. But her head pounded insistently, and so Alana snaked out a hand, reaching for Hannibal.

 

Her fingers found only the silken bed linen. She frowned, where could he have possibly gone in the middle of the night?

 

Only now did she open her eyes, gasping sharply as she saw Abigail standing by the bed, her eyes dull even as they bored into Alana’s naked form.

 

 _I must be dreaming_ Alana thought. She closed her eyes and counted to ten. When she opened them, Abigail was gone. Eventually, Alana drifted back to sleep.

 

When she opened her eyes, Hannibal was watching her.

 

 _“You’re awake.”_ Alana said, teasing out the words as she reached for Hannibal.

 

Their lazy kisses soon overtook the small talk of the morning after, once they have acknowledged to one another that this isn’t a one time thing.

 

They were rudely interrupted by the doorbell, which Hannibal, ever the gentleman, went to answer.

 

But upon hearing the familiar boom of Jack’s voice, Alana felt the need to make her presence known.

 

Although Alana had her own questions about where Hannibal had gone so late at night, as far as she was concerned he was beyond reproach. She’d known him so well for so long, she had to give him the benefit of the doubt, and what Jack didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

 

As soon as Jack departed, Hannibal scooped Alana into his arms, lowering her onto the benchtop and running his hands up her thighs, beneath the shirt she had stolen from him. His mouth found her neck, nipping its way to her earlobe.

 

Alana groaned, tugging at Hannibal’s sweater and wrapping her legs around his body, trapping his clothed erection against her crotch.

 

He snarled, ripping the shirt open and sending a spray of buttons across the kitchen. After his sweater was gone he rolled Alana’s nipples between his teeth, each in turn.

 

Alana’s fingers raked through Hannibal’s hair, head thrown back in ecstasy.

 

Seeing her splayed before him made his cock twitch, and he quickly stepped out of his track pants.

 

The whimper Alana released as Hannibal thrust up inside of her was immensely satisfying to him. He hadn’t imagined her a screamer, but after last night he had been proven wrong, and was pleasantly surprised. He could appreciate a woman who could vocalise her pleasure, and was not some meek, shy, little mouse. With a smile he wondered what Abigail had made of Alana’s cries.

 

Hannibal set a cracking pace, needing to see her muscles tense, to feel her body convulse around him. His knees nearly buckled from under him as she milked his cock. He hooked his arm under Alana’s bottom, stumbling to the armchair in the corner and dropping into it, Alana still impaled on his slowly-softening cock. Their teeth clashed together as they engaged in a kiss almost as intense as the sex itself.

 

Eventually their lust cooled, and Alana curled up in Hannibal’s lap as he stroked her hair.

 

“I could get used to this.” Alana murmured, tugging gently at Hannibal’s chest hair.

 

“What part is that exactly?” Hannibal quipped “The gourmet meals, the good company or the mind-blowing sex?”

 

Alana grinned despite herself “All of the above.” She leaned up for a soft kiss. Then her tummy rumbled. “Right now I could do with breakfast though.”

 

“Very well. It will require clothes though, for me at least.”

 

Alana pouted “Okay, but only because I want to make sure everything’s intact for later.” She got shakily to her feet, pulling the now-buttonless shirt around her body as she waited for Hannibal to dress.

 

 

It was the middle of the week and Alana was curled up in Hannibal’s bed feeling miserable. It was hard to say what the cause of her cold was, but she was willing to bet the long walk in the bracing cold with Will and the dogs the past weekend hadn’t helped matters.

 

Hannibal had been reluctant to leave her alone in his house. He’d offered to cancel his appointments for the day or to drive her home, but in the end he left her to sleep, promising to cook chicken soup upon his return.

 

Around midday Alana headed downstairs, stopping short at the entrance to the kitchen when she saw Abigail’s petite form standing at the stove.

 

Alana immediately put a hand to her own head, surely she wasn’t sick enough to be hallucinating; it was just a head cold. She pulled the plush robe she’d stolen from Hannibal’s closet tight around her and stepped forward.

 

“Abigail?” Her voice was hoarse with disbelief.

 

The girl glanced over her shoulder casually. “Oh, hey Alana. I thought you left with Hannibal.” She turned back to the pot as if nothing untoward was going on.

 

Alana still couldn’t believe her eyes. She reached for Abigail, letting a fistful of dark hair run through her own pale fingers.

 

“You’re alive!”

 

Abigail quirked her eyebrow. “Don’t go spreading it around. The last thing I need is the FBI on my case.”

 

“We found your blood...pints of it…and your ear.”

 

Abigail put down the spoon, pulling back a fall of hair to reveal to Alana her stump. After a moment she dropped it again and returned to the food.

 

Alana had questions, but she didn’t even know where to begin. So she set aside the impossibility of Abigail being alive, and the questions of why Hannibal was protecting her, and stuck to more mundane topics.

 

“What are you cooking?” Alana asked more evenly, hovering at the younger woman’s shoulder.

 

“Mac n cheese. Hannibal won’t let me eat the box stuff so he taught me how to make it from scratch.”

 

“Of course he did. How-”

 

“You got to ask a question, now I get to ask one.” Abigail interjected.

 

“Okay.” Alana agreed. “What could you possibly want to know about me?”

 

“I have a list.” Abigail added something to the pan. “First off, does sex really feel so good that you have to scream the house down every time?” She looked square at Alana, amusement creeping sassily across her lips.

 

“You _heard_ that?” Alana said, exasperated “Oh god, of course you did. You’ve been here the whole time?”

 

Abigail nodded, her smile warm, even if she was amused at Alana’s expense. “You didn’t answer the question.”

 

“You probably don’t want to know the answer to that.”

 

“Try me.” She cocked an eyebrow.

 

“Well, Hannibal is an amazing lover. Skilled. But it’s more than just that. I’ve known him so long that something really special happens when we’re together. It transcends the physical.”

 

“Are you in love with him?”

 

Alana’s words falter at the bluntness of the question. Love is too simplistic a way to encompass everything she feels for Hannibal. How he completes her.

 

“I get it, you do but you’re too cool to admit it.” Abigail supplied.

 

“It’s not about being cool, it just goes so far beyond love and is yet completely unrelated to it. It’s my turn now. Why did you fake your own death?”

 

Abigail looked slightly irritated at the prospect of dredging up the past. But she stated her case bluntly, spoon in hand. “I killed Nicholas Boyle. Hannibal was protecting me.”

 

Alana frowned. As much as she cared for Abigail, it didn’t sit well with her that Hannibal would pervert the course of justice like that. But he did it so Abigail wouldn’t spend the best years of her life behind bars, Alana told herself.

 

“There are still options, Abigail. You don’t have to live your life hidden away in these walls. It’s not living.” Alana said pleadingly.

 

Abigail put down her spoon and came over to Alana. “That’s sweet of you, really, but we both know that’s not true. Now make sure you don’t let on to Hannibal that you’ve seen me, you never know what might happen.” She warned.

 

Logically, it makes no sense, but in her gut Alana knew Abigail was right. Better not to get herself involved in Hannibal’s game.

 

 

By the weekend Alana’s cold had cleared up. She fed Applesauce and packed her overnight bag before driving to Hannibal’s place for dinner.

 

He was wearing his apron when he greeted her with a kiss at the door.

 

Alana stripped of her coat and followed him into the kitchen, taking a proffered glass of wine. “Busy week?”

 

“My patients’ neuroses outstrip my own. That is the best to be hoped for in this day and age.”

 

They made small talk as Hannibal prepared and served the dinner, a pork ragu served in canneloni.

 

Afterwards, Alana sat back, pleasantly full. She sipped her wine, looking wantonly over the rim of the glass at Hannibal. “What’s for dessert?”

 

Hannibal slowly got to his feet and made his way around to Alana’s side of the table and began to rub her shoulders. After a minute he drew his nose along her neck, whispering in her ear. “I was rather inclined to have you for dessert.”

 

Alana bit her lip, heart racing at Hannibal’s closeness. “I’d be up for that.”

 

His hands dipped from her shoulders down the front of her shirt dress, massaging her breasts until her nipples were hard points beneath his palms and she squirmed in the chair.

 

Gently Hannibal pulled her to her feet, pressing her against the dining room wall so he could probe her mouth with his tongue. He undid the dress as he did so, pushing it roughly off her shoulders and then moving her into position at the head of the table.

 

He splayed her against the dark wood, heedless of the expensive crockery and glassware. Alana bit back a whimper, her hips rising towards Hannibal with need.

 

He teased his cock through her slit a few times, waiting for her to urge him on, but although Alana gave a few low moans it was nothing on her usual level of enthusiasm.

 

Instead, he thrust himself to the hilt inside her, which produced a more pleasing result. But even that instinctive cry of need seemed muted, tamed somehow. Hannibal savoured the feel of her for a few more thrusts before withdrawing completely and leaning down beside her face.

 

“Is everything alright, Alana? Are you tired? Unwell?”

 

“Everything’s fine.” She breathed, capturing his lips. “Please fuck me, Hannibal.”

 

He saw straight through her lie “I’ll get to that. For now I want to know what’s bothering you. We’ve always trusted each other, haven’t we?”

 

Alana bit her lip, nodding. “I don’t want to put her in danger.”

 

“Put who in danger?”

 

“Abigail.” Alana breathed.

 

Hannibal stiffened. 

 

“I know you’re protecting her. It’s okay I’m not going to tell anyone. But keeping her locked up like this, how is that any kind of life for a young woman her age?”

 

“She’s vulnerable. She needs my protection.” He was defensive now, tucking his still-hard cock back into his pants.

 

Alana pulled herself up off the table and started to get dressed. “And what if something happened to you?”

 

“Will would take care of her.”

 

“You’re not her parents. She needs support, but not surrogate family.”

 

“I’m sorry Alana but you don’t get a say in this.” He reached for her, even though they’re both on their high horses. “Don’t leave like this.”

Alana grit her teeth as Hannibal cupped her jaw, slowly relaxing into his kiss.

 

“You should make as much noise as you like,” He mumbled “Abigail is a precocious young woman, she can handle it.” He kisses her earlobe “Besides, I love it when you scream for me.”

 

Despite herself, Alana smiled.


End file.
